


Got Game

by kesdax



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw doesn't think Root has any game. Root tries to prove otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Game

**Author's Note:**

> This stemmed from a conversation on tumblr which I can't even remember how it started now.

“So…” asked Shaw sounding bored, “where’s our number?” Her eyes scanned the club, lingering ever so slightly on a couple of the dancers. Root narrowed her eyes but quickly covered it by the time Shaw’s eyes landed on her again.

“Patience, Sameen,” Root simpered. She smiled slightly when Shaw barely supressed the urge grind her teeth together.

“I’m getting a drink.”

Root watched her disappear through the crowd towards the bar and then turned on her heel, moving towards the dance floor. The club was packed tonight, making it difficult for Root to reach her intended destination without stepping on someone’s toes or pushing them out of the way. The music swelled around her, lights throbbing overhead, causing a dull ache to form behind her eyes. It was unpleasant and unrelenting, reminding her why she hated places like these. But it wasn’t just the music she found irritating and she scrunched up her nose in disgust as some guy pressed his body up tightly against hers as she passed. She had the sudden urge to pull her taser out on him just for the pure amusement of watching what the other dancers would do. But she didn’t, knowing that her cover wasn’t even supposed to own a taser, knowing that the Machine would only disprove. Because that wasn’t the mission. Not tonight.

Truth was, Root wasn’t even sure _what_ mission they were on. She hadn’t been given a number or a name or anything. Just the club’s address and a recommendation to bring Shaw with her. And she knew it wouldn’t be long before Shaw figured it out and demanded to know what was going on, despite Root’s lack of answers. She chalked it up to one of those times where the Machine wanted her to figure it out on her own. But for the life of her, Root couldn’t figure out what this nightclub could possibly have to do with their fight against Samaritan.

“I’m pretty sure this is the part where you are supposed to be dancing,” Shaw muttered in her ear.

Root jumped, and not because she was startled that Shaw had snuck up on her, but because Shaw was so close, an arm pressing into Root’s side as her lips almost grazed Root’s ear.

Recovering quickly, Root shrugged and raised her eyebrow in surprise when Shaw thrust a drink in her hand.

“Otherwise you’ll stand out,” Shaw explained and Root thought she looked a little uncomfortable. Shaw gestured for her to follow and she led them away from the dance floor and the DJ blaring his music out of the speakers to a relatively quiet corner in the back. It was still loud, but at least nobody was pressing themselves up against her uninvited and she didn’t have to yell so loud for Shaw to hear her.

“You know,” said Root, taking a sip and grimacing as the alcohol burned her throat, “buying someone a drink in a place like this is usually a metaphor for something else.”

Shaw glowered but it quickly turned into a smirk. “And what would _you_ know about that?”

Root frowned. “This isn’t my first time in a nightclub.”

Shaw shrugged. “You just don’t seem like the buying someone a drink type,” she said, taking a large gulp of the beer in her hand.

“I don’t?” said Root, feeling rather affronted by this and not knowing why. Not sure how to respond to that feeling, Root quickly took another sip of her drink.

“You’re more of the tase them and threaten them with a hot iron type,” said Shaw casually, watching the dancers again.

Root choked on her drink, the alcohol going down the wrong pipe and she spluttered as she caught the slight smirk on Shaw’s features.

“I’m just saying,” said Shaw and Root had the distinct impression that the smirk had deepened, “this isn’t exactly a skill set in your repertoire.”

“Are you saying I don’t have game?” Root asked. “I have game,” she added when Shaw just shrugged non-committedly.

Shaw snorted. “No you don’t.”

Root glared and shoved her unfinished drink in Shaw’s hand. “I have game,” she repeated and stormed into the middle of the dance floor to prove her point. She could _feel_ Shaw watching her and she wondered vaguely why the Machine had yet to intervene and tell her to get back to work.

The floor vibrated beneath her feet as Root pushed her way through the throng and she bit her lip when someone’s elbow pressed into her ribs. It was her “friend” from earlier and she immediately wiped the annoyance from her face and flashed him a bright smile. Root put on her most endearingly sweet voice and asked him to dance and was annoyed when he quickly declined.

The annoyance was short lived though, her eyes settling on her next target. A blonde in a red dress who looked just about drunk enough to be up for anything. Root moved towards her, swaying her hips in time with the music. The blonde smile as Root approached, but it quickly disappeared as she beelined out of Root’s way.

A frown found its way onto Root’s face, but she was determined to try again. And again. And a third time without any luck and only stopped when the Machine told her to head for the bar.

She found Shaw there, a fresh beer in front of her and self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“What was that you were saying about having game?” Shaw said around the mouth of her beer bottle.

“Shut up,” Root snapped, narrowing her eyes suspiciously when Shaw’s smirk turned into a grin. “Wait a minute…”

The grin slipped from Shaw’s face ever so slightly. No one else would have noticed, but Root prided herself on being able to pick up on the particular quirks of Shaw’s face.

“What did you do?” Root asked.

Shaw shrugged casually, taking a long drink from her beer and Root knew she was trying to avoid the question.

It just made Root all the more suspicious and she turned on her heel, heading back the way she had come. The guy from earlier was still near where Root had left him and she grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him away from his friends.

“Why didn’t you dance with me?” Root asked.

“What?” he yelled over the music. Root repeated the question, unable to keep the terseness out of her voice. “Oh. Because your girlfriend was giving me the evil eye. I so don’t need that shit,” he added and Root knew exactly who her aforementioned “girlfriend” was supposed to be.

Root stormed back to the bar. “That was cheating,” she said, snatching the beer out of Shaw’s hand and downing it in one gulp.

“Whatever,” said Shaw, glaring as Root slammed down the now empty beer bottle onto the bar top. “You still don’t have any game.”

Root almost matched Shaw’s glare, but then her features turned into a wicked smirk that caused Shaw to eye her warily.

“I managed to pick you up, didn’t I?” said Root, leaning in close. Shaw took an instinctive step backwards, her hip banging into the bar and Root grinned when she realised she had her trapped. “And all it took was one little iron.” Stepping closer so that their bodies were touching, Root brought her head down so that their lips were barely an inch apart. “And I didn’t even have to _use_ it.”

Shaw swallowed thickly. She recovered quickly though and pushed Root away from her, out of her personal space and seemed to breathe easier again.

“I think you’ll find,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse, “that _I_ was the one that picked _you_ up. Before we’d even met,” she added with a smirk. “What was that about being _kind of a big fan_?”

Root scowled and couldn’t exactly deny it. It just caused the smirk to reappear on Shaw’s face.

“So…” said Shaw, putting the boredom back into her voice, “which one of us has game again?”


End file.
